Ultra Violet
by GorimJr
Summary: Olivia Dunham is kidnapped, and as each known Cortexiphan Child vanishes from their homes, it's up to Peter and Walter to find the one Cortexiphan Child that can find its fellow Recruits before it's too late. Hidden Connections Sequel : Read that first


Olivia Dunham walked into her apartment, shrugging off her coat and talking into the phone pinned between her shoulder and ear. Autumn leaves crackled as she pulled them out of her hair, laughing.

"No, Rachel, I'm not lonely." She stopped. "Alright, I'm a little lonely without Ella here, but I don't miss your mooching." She laughed as she hung up her coat and walked into the kitchen. "Oh, I just got home… Yes, I was talking on the phone while I was driving… Oh shut up." She laughed as her sister chided her, then reached into her cabinets and took out a shot glass. "Oh, I'm just making a drink… No, I'm not an alcoholic, I've just had a long day… Oh, like you don't have some scotch after a long day at work… You don't? … Okay then." She poured a drink took the bottle and the glass into the living room.

"Peter and Walter are fine… Yeah, it's Walter's birthday soon… Oh, I don't know. Peter's thinking of getting him a dog… Yeah," she laughed. "It is like they're switching roles. Oh, Walter asked and Peter gave him this big lecture about the responsibility… I know! … Oh, I'm sure he would make a good dad…" She drank the shot and winced as the alcohol ran down her throat. "No, I'm not asking him out, and you know why? … Close. He already asked me out."

She jerked the phone away from her ear as the sound of her sister squealing filled the room. "Nice to hear you approve." She said dryly. "Yeah, remember the blind date I had a few weeks before you left? That was him… Sorry, I thought I should wait for you to be a few hundred miles away… Why? Did you not hear yourself four seconds ago?" She laughed, then stopped as a clattering sound came from her bedroom. "Hey, Rach? I'll call you back, okay?" Before her sister could answer, Olivia hung up and rose, creeping down the hall towards her bedroom.

The hall and room was dark, and when she got into her room, the only light came from the streetlight just outside the window, sending streaks of light through the slits in the blinds. Slowly reaching up, she flicked the light switch.

The room was empty of life, and as far as she could tell, there was nowhere for someone to hide. Her arms flopped to her arms to her sides and sighed irritably. She turned to go back to the living room, and her drink.

She ran into a large wall of a person, and before she could recover, a needle slid into her neck and an icy feeling raced down her neck and into her heart, and then up her neck and into her brain. Unconsciousness took over instantly, and she fell forward into her attacker, knowing no more.

--

Peter snuggled down under the covers, relishing the first good nights sleep he'd had in a long time. For the first time, he didn't wake up with a crick in his neck or the blanket on the floor, or cold feet. He sighed contentedly and opened his eyes a crack. The clock by his bed sported the time 8:30 a.m. He sat up and stretched, considering what he was going to make for breakfast. First night in the new house. The final box had been unpacked the previous night and so, by Peter's standards, they were now officially moved in. He remembered moving into a new house with his mother and having that age-old wisdom being passed down to him. As he got up and threw on a t-shirt, he wondered what would happen if he called up his mother. He immediately banished the thought, shuddered at the image of his mother learning that he'd not only let Walter out of St. Claire's, but was also living with him and humoring him.

He walked down the hall and knocked on Walter's door. "Walter," he called. "You awake?"

"Yes!" His father answered. "Just performing my morning calisthenics."

"What do you feel like for breakfast?"

"I have a strange urge for French Toast," Walter answered from behind the door.

"Alright, French Toast then. Are you okay with no syrup?" Peter asked. Walter scoffed.

"That Buttersworth stuff isn't real syrup, Son. As far as I'm concerned, we _never_ have syrup! To get syrup, we'd have to go to Vermont, and-"

"Alright, alright," Peter said, walking away quickly and going downstairs. Nick Lane, scarred reverse-empath, sat in the living room, meditating.

"Hello, Peter," he said in a rather monotonous way.

"Hey, you hungry? I'm making French Toast."

"I could eat," Nick said, taking measured breaths. Peter frowned.

"Are those Lamaze techniques?" He asked, amused.

"No they are not." Nick said sharply. "They're meditation techniques, as suggested by Buddhist monks."

"Sounds like Lamaze," Peter teased. Nick said nothing, opting instead to begin humming pointedly. Peter grinned and started taking out the ingredients for French Toast.

As he was mixing the batter, the phone rang.

"Nick, could you get that?" He called from the kitchen. Nick got up and answered the phone.

"Hello, Nick Lane, Bishop residence."

"Lane? It's Broyles," a deep, no-nonsense voice said from across the line.

"Sir," Nick said respectfully. "Has something come up?"

"Olivia Dunham is missing," Broyles said shortly. "Her sister says that she was last heard from around eleven at night. We need you and the Bishops to come down to her apartment; the techs found something."

"Right," Nick said blankly, standing there long after Broyles hung up and the dial tone rang in his ears.

Walter tottered down the stairs cheerfully, humming and smelling the smell of French Toast. He walked onto the first floor just as Nick finally hung up, staring at the phone in horror.

"Why, Nicolas," Walter stammered. "What's wrong?" Nick looked up at Walter.

"Olivia's gone."

--

The apartment was the same as Peter had remembered it since the last time he'd been there, which hadn't been very long ago. In fact, he'd been there only a few days ago for Halloween. It was Rachel's last day there, so Peter convinced Olivia to throw a Halloween/Farewell party. Costume required, a little thing Walter had thrown in, had made the whole thing entirely too hilarious, since everyone took the requirement to heart and dressed up. Jessup was Cat Woman, Astrid was a Hippie, Walter was a Moose (a choice that had made Peter laugh until he was physically sick), Nick was an Army Man, Rachel was a Nurse, Ella was a Fairy Princess (to whom everyone, even the Moose, made a point of bowing to) and Peter and Olivia had "remarkably" dressed as Superman and Supergirl, respectively. The whole thing had been a blast, and Peter had ended up staying the night. Explaining to Rachel why a sixty year old man dressed as a moose had been sleeping on her couch was a bit difficult.

That fond memory, and all the rest of his memories of Olivia Dunham, contrasted sharply with the dawning realization that she was, once again, gone. Out of reach. If she needed help, he could not help her. If she was hurt, he could not save her. And the phrase he was going to say to her was useless, because this apartment was empty.

As Peter walked through the apartment, as he watched the tech teams mark and catalogue every vaguely suspicious thing, he wondered whether he would ever be happy again if Olivia was somehow never found. Things would shatter; break into useless pieces, just as they had threatened to the first time she almost slipped away. With no legal reason to keep him, Sumner would force Peter to institutionalize Walter again. Astrid, Broyles and Jessup would drift away one way or another. Nick would want to go back asleep. And Peter would be left as he was before he met Olivia; a nomad with no connections and few emotions to draw on. All things considered, that would be a reasonable way to cope.

But things weren't that bad yet. Banishing the morbid thoughts from his head as quickly as he had allowed them to invade, he followed his father and Nick down the hall to Olivia's bedroom, where Broyles waited.

"Thirty minutes," Broyles said shortly. "Dunham still holds the record." He held up two bags. One held two small, professional-looking syringes. The other held a small vial with a bit of yellowish liquid in it. Walter's eyes widened and he slowly took the baggie with the vial. "The yellow liquid appears to be Cortexiphan, from what I recall it looking like."

"Yes," Walter said faintly. "It is."

"The other syringe has traces of a powerful sedative in it," Broyles said.

"Whoever it was must have jumped her," Nick said. "Olive's tough; she wouldn't have gone down without a fight."

"My thoughts exactly, Mr. Lane," Broyles said. "Now, I remember reading in a past report that Ethan Call located Alyssa Weiss with a bond that you, Dr. Bishop, augmented."

"That's true," Walter said. "An excellent idea, Agent Broyles. We'll use that same experiment with a different subject. It would work, particularly since Olivia already found Nicolas once with that same bond." He beamed at Broyles. "Agent Broyles, I dare say you're being to think more and more like us."

Peter looked around the room, and his eyes fell on Olivia's purse. He'd only seen it a couple of times before; she wasn't really a purse person. Going over to it, he peeked inside and saw a strip of paper. Taking it out, he saw that it was a strip of pictures from a photobooth at the mall. Four pictures of Olivia and Peter, grinning or kissing or, in one, making funny faces.

He choked back a sob, and folded the pictures up, tucking them into his coat pocket as Walter said, "Come on Peter! We've got an Agent to find!"


End file.
